Where the Heart Lies
by Keshi-chan13
Summary: "You're smile's gone... You only bicker and bring me down these days... That's why I'm not doing this for you, Iggy."  AmericaXUK fanfic. Alfred's heart strings are being pulled, and now their compelling him to do something he'd usually never do.
1. Selfish Reasons?

_"You'll listen to me, dammit! As long as you're under this roof, you'll follow _my _rules and _my _rules only!"_

Alfred sighed. He remembered that. As if those words were spoken to him just yesterday.

_"Well, you know what? I don't want to live under this damn roof! All of these rules, your smothering! You__'__re killing me, Arthur! I don't want to spend my life like this anymore! I can't take this any longer!" Alfred barked and slammed his fist on the table, making the objects on it rattle. He glared at his so called brother._

_"...I can't take this. You're being the unreasonable one here, not me. _You're _the evil one here...!" He paused for a few moments as he let Arthur absorb his outburst fully._

_"I'm sorry... but I have to leave you now... I'm not going to be treated like this... and my people won't be treated like this anymore either. Goodbye, England."_

Alfred continued looking up to the blue, blue sky that hung over him. He was sprawled out on the hood of his trusty old truck, parked in the middle of a field somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

But to him, it wasn't just a field. No, this was a lot more important to him than just a pretty sight that belonged on a postcard.

_" Engwand! Engwand! I'm happy to see you again!"_

He remembered the many encounters he had with the Englishman here, the horrid and the absolutely wonderful. All the times Alfred would show him things he was curious about, things he wanted, and then in turn Arthur showing him some interesting things.

Books, trinkets, all sorts of things were exchanged. A lot of old, precious memories came back to him here, where it all happened. It all started here... The visits, those warm embraces... the games and fun...

He wondered how those times could easily been so ruined, and crumple to nothing more than distant fantasies and memories. How something he used to take for granted was thrown out like last week's trash. A shallow breath filled the young man's lungs.

America had to be honest with himself. He did love England greatly. And sometimes, those little sparks of deep emotion welled up in him and then compelled him to come here. He knew this, and could easily say it to himself. But saying that sort of thing aloud... now _that _was another story.

Alfred found himself chuckling. And now he remember just how easily and nonchalantly he'd proclaim it to his old brother, and then how he'd react. That flush and smile... that was real, right?

All those memories were real, weren't they?

They weren't meaningless... and they _were_ a greater part of his life... at least, that's what he wanted himself to believe.

The personification of the United States sighed deeply. All those memories... he'd remember them so easily here. How meaningful they were, and how wonderful they really were to him...

He just couldn't believe how they'd disappear so quickly, with such brisk movements… all because of certain things done and said back in the day that made him want to dismiss them. All because of that grudge he still held to this day in his heart. Like a human acting towards another while in similar pairs of shoes as he...

'Heh... funny analogy...,' he thought to himself, smiling as a silence of his voice and mind ensued.

After a few moments, he began to wonder... now that this place where he lay would possibly become an expansion of an outlet mall... would he lose those memories for good? For as long as he was in charge of this vast nation he called home?

He continued looking up to the sky. Maybe, maybe not... What did he really know?

But then again... rather or not that would happen... he couldn't just let this place become a trashy wasteland where obnoxious teenagers would spit on the ground and not give a damn.

Even after the war, the hardships, his determination to never give in to England's ways again, he couldn't let this land that rubbed off on him go to waste. He had to make a stand.

The young man sat up on the hood of his car before hopping off.

"You abused me and drained me and my people of our freedoms as living beings... You assumed so much and expected perfection; up most royalty even after you became the villain," the blonde murmured aloud. He stood a bit taller.

"You're smile's gone... You only bicker and bring me down these days... so that's why I'm not doing this for you, Iggy." He looked up at the cloudless sky.

"You hearing this? Because I ain't repeating myself...," he said up to the sky, as if the Englishman could hear him from across the ocean.

"…I'm not doing this for you. It's just for me and me only. I'm being a selfish little bastard, but only because this place has tiny, _tiny _place in my heart... After all these years, I can't let this place rot, even after what you've done."

And so, the blonde stared out into the horizon. He had to stop the construction. He wasn't going to let a single piece of this land fall under a cone and be named a construction zone.

Alfred nodded to himself, as if he rehearsed a plan in his head, and got into his car. He looked out the window again, before looking ahead and driving away, down the path he always took that would lead him back to the city.


	2. Heartache?

**Chapter two! XD Well now, we'll get to see what Mr. Britian is thinking while this happens~ And of course, feel free to comment, ect. Also, thanks for reading this far! Enjoy!**

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><p>England sat at the kitchen table, working on his new embroidery project. He sat there diligently, not worrying over one other thing than the fabric he had placing the new design in. He focused on what he was doing, causing his brow to furrow and a cease to appear on his forehead, which coincidentally was the same crease that would appear when he was irritated.<p>

In fact, he was becoming just that. Irritated. Despite the fact he gave his undivided attention to his little project, his possession of careful, surgeon like moves, and even with his experience on the subject of embroidery, he had made a mistake.

So, what does he do? He tries to fix it, of course! He shuffles about, looking for his tools and a way to correct himself. He fiddled with his work, seeing if there wasn't a way he could repair it. But sadly, after many minutes of pulling, examining, pricking his fingers, and cursing softly under his breath, nothing came of it. What used to be a trifle, relaxing activity to him was starting to become a pain in the neck.

Now there he was, with soar fingers, a temper, and more unattractive folds on his forehead, his frustration slowly building.

"Oh, bloody hell! Come on now!" he said to himself as he continued to try to fix the mess. But he discovered he was only making it worse, and that perhaps was due to the fact he was doing this in a rushed, angry manner. Whatever the reason, he was not picking up on it and continued to further ruin his creation.

"No, no, no...!" he groaned, before he pricked his index finger again. He growled and grumbled before he had finally accepting defeat and set his work aside.

He massaged his hands, which were throbbing from hassling, before taking a deep breath, "I just have to calm down and take a small break... Yes, that's all. I'll just prepare some tea, and that will make things better," he said to himself. Now most people find it strange to see him murmur to himself, but the English man didn't mind in the least. He couldn't help the fact that it became a habit.

Thus, once he had convinced himself that he could still save his work, he went into the kitchen to see what he could make. He rummaged through the cabinets until he found a small bag of Earl Grey tea. It was, of course, a cheaper brand that ended up in his house whenever he received a visit from France. But no matter; he would have to make do with what he had.

Now he sat properly at the table, his eyes barely even focusing on the kettle on the stove as it began to heat up. There was no need to, he would think, since he had done this routinely. Ah, but since his focus was elsewhere, it allowed his mind to wonder.

_ "Haha! Engwand! Your back! "_

The scream of boiling steam filled the air, and pulled him away from his thoughts. He walked briskly over to the stove and shut it off, before reaching up to the cabinet just above him. From there, he removed a simplistic tea cup. Just for him, of course. Who else would come to sit down and just drink tea with him anymore?

He then started pouring himself some tea, but… once more, just as quickly as he was pulled out, England dove back into his thoughts.

_ "Engwand! Iggy! Do you have any food today, too? "_

_ "I'm afraid not, Alfred. But, I have the opportunity to offer you some tea. "_

_ "Oh! But how? If you brought it with you, it would be cold by now, wouldn't it?"_

_ England smiled, "Precisely why I was going to invite you to my manor. Besides, a day in the village wouldn't make you very weary, now will it? "_

_ The little, curious boy thought and thought for a while, before smiling, "Okay!"_

England's mind lurched. It performed a sort of time skip.

_ "Pour me some, please~?"_

That was when the Brit felt his hand burn. His cup had been far too full, and was over flowing. He hissed and quickly set down the kettle and tea cup, before running to the sink to wet a wash cloth. Once it was under a decent amount of cold water, he dabbed it against his burnt hand. It stung a bit, but it helped.

He looked to his hand. It stung…but he still did it… What had that reminded him of?

_ "__-__You bloody idiot! Why… how dare you? Do you understand what you're doing to me? I gave you _everything! _Everything you could have possibly asked for!" England pulled out his gun, and by order, the entire rebellious fleet took their aim at the British man._

_ "I…! You… E-Even after all of this time… I can't… bring myself to do it… Dammit…! Why?" England collapsed, becoming nothing more than a sobbing, shriveled up mess. _

And he watched. He watched himself cry. Cry before his former, who stood at stiff and tall as a skyscraper.

_ "England… Just surrender… You have nothing left here to gain. Just go… go home. Because this land… is _mine _now. And mine only. "_

Suddenly, his hand didn't seem to ache as much. The source that took its place? His head that had begun to throb violently. But, perhaps that wasn't the only thing? Was it also… his heart that aches? He even felt it lurch forth when he remembered that day… Maybe it was..

He placed his shaking, uninjured hand over his heart, "You wanted me to consider your independence… and then that would no longer make you my little brother," England said softly.

"Idiot… I offered you everything in the world that you could have ever wanted…! I made you food, I cleaned after you, and I even offered you that… that accursed _room_…! So why...? I know I had left you for the longest of time. I understand that I taxed you, and that maybe some of them were unreasonable, but… I needed your help…"

The elder nation leaned against the counter, "…You had spent your childhood leaning upon me…and I needed someone to lean on. But you gave me a bloody cold shoulder…!" Arthur continued, not even bothering to touch his tea yet.

"…I wanted to rely on someone… I wanted you at my side. And you left as if nothing happened. "

The British man looked at his hand, "To this day, you act so naïve…as if nothing truly mattered. And yet… I highly doubt you would if you really understood what it's done to me… Deep down in my heart…"

The shaggy haired man closed his eyes for a moment, before releasing a deep breath and going to sit down at the table. He picked up the tea and began to drink it, not even cringing in the slightest as the cold liquid went down his throat. He looked out the window, his eyes having a dull glaze over him.

"If only you would have listened… I was only thinking of you and I… I was thinking of your future, most of all." Arthur paused and looked down to his tea, seeing his grim, saddened expression. He looked away from the reflection in his tea and back to the window.

"You would have been a proper young man by now if it weren't for your reckless discussion!" Once more, England's brow furrowed. If only there was a way to get that blasted American back on the right track. Oh, but he knew it would be to no avail if he talked. After all, his words are nothing but simple nicks on his skin now.

The Brit stood up and took in a long breath of chilled air, before managing to move his feet to lead him to his study.

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><p><strong>Well, that's it for now. Christmas, of course, is tomorrow, but I'm trying to see if by chance I could try and do Chapter 3 then! And then, of course, I'll upload it the day after. So yes, thank you for reading! :)<strong>


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